The Rebel Wife Read online

  So much for keeping her sheltered from the ugly details. “Unfortunately, with so many men crowded into one small plot, it’s hard to maintain an ideal environment.”

  “By that, you mean, it’s bad.” Her smile faded. “What else did you find out?”

  She meant regarding her brother and Jeb. Dread roosted in his gut. No more delaying. He had to deliver the news.

  He stepped closer and folded her into his arms. She tensed at first, then thankfully relaxed against him, her warmth seeping through the linen of his shirt. She felt so good, so right, as though she belonged in his arms.

  He wished to God she did.

  “Is someone watching?” she whispered.

  She assumed he was playacting as he’d done at the farmhouse. If only he were. “I have some news, and I want you to promise to stay calm.”

  She stiffened. “Is it...is Lance..?”

  “Your brother’s fine.”

  “Oh, God. Jeb—”

  “It’s not him either. He’s still alive and being well cared for at the prison hospital.”

  She sagged against him. “What is it then?”

  “Lance is alive, but he’s not here.”

  “Not here?” She tipped her head back. Though the brim of her bonnet shaded her eyes, it didn’t conceal the worry-lines creasing her skin. “Where is he?”

  “He and four hundred other prisoners were sent to another prison to relieve the overcrowding here at Point Lookout.”

  Color drained from her face. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She swallowed, then squeaked out, “Wh-what other prison?”

  “The one in Elmira, New York.”

  “Oh God, no.” She wilted, slipping from his grasp and sinking to her knees in the wet sand. A wave swept in and soaked her skirts. Yet, she merely sat there, silent and still as a pylon, letting the sea lap at her as she stared out over the water.

  He blinked in confusion. What the hell? He expected her to be upset, but not this hopeless despair. He squatted beside her. “What is it, Kitty? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m too late.”

  Her forlorn tone stabbed his gut. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Shhh...” he whispered. “You’re not too late.”

  Her reply was a soft sob. Warm tears dampened his shirtfront. He massaged her back, now rigid as a brick wall. “Don’t be upset. Lance is still alive.”

  “H-he might’ve been alive...when he left here. But...”

  “Lance is a lot stronger than you think. Look how long he survived at this prison.”

  “It doesn’t matter how strong he is. Once he reaches Elmira, he’ll die...or wish he was dead.” She collapsed against him, her thin body wracked by vicious shudders.

  He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Lance is not going to die, Kitty. You have to think positively.”

  “You’re wrong. Let me go, Jack.” She pushed away from him and reached for the water. “Let the tide take me under.”

  He yanked her back into his arms, his heart keeling over at her words. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Lance is dead. I might as well be, too.”

  Where was that spitting she-cat he so admired? She should be ranting and raving, holding him at knifepoint and demanding he take her to Elmira. There was more to her story than she was letting on.

  And it was high time he found out what.

  Chapter Seven

  Elmira. It was just as she feared all along. She hadn’t reached Lance in time. She’d failed. And he would pay the price with his life.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Kitty.”

  Fine? Nothing would ever be fine again. A sob caught in her throat.

  Jack’s embrace tightened, then he pushed to his feet with her cradled in his arms. She should protest, but God help her, she could barely draw a breath, much less speak. It was as if someone had tapped her veins and drained every ounce of strength from her body.

  He carried her the short distance to their cottage, and once inside, lowered her onto the bed. She lay there, unable to move, limbs heavy as snow-heaped logs. How would she go on without Lance? He was her twin, her other half. They shared everything together. Life without him would be bleak and empty.

  The sound of pouring water trickled into her misery, then a cool, damp cloth bathed her forehead. “Kitty, talk to me.”

  She closed her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. She didn’t deserve his kindness. She was a worthless piece of human flesh, just as Mr. Lawrence had said. Tears of guilt and despair spilled from beneath her lids.

  Smooth cotton swabbed her cheek. “Don’t cry, honey.”

  Don’t cry. He might as well ask the ocean tides to stop rising.

  Bed ropes creaked as he sat beside her. “Look at me.”

  “C-can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” He cupped her chin and tilted her head toward him. “Open your eyes, Kitty.”

  His harsh tone goaded her to obey. She met his steady gaze.

  “Would you like something? A glass of water? Wine?”

  “I don’t need anything.” Not anymore.

  His mouth flattened into a thin line. “What’s going on? Why are you so upset?”

  She stuffed down a groan. Here it comes, the relentless digging, like a hound after a rabbit burrow.

  “You were so determined to get here,” he continued. “Yet, now that you’ve learned Lance was moved to another prison, you’ve given up. Why?”

  “I’ll never reach him in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “Not what. Who.”

  “Who then?”

  She gave a half shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter, and we both know it.”

  He brushed a stray curl off her forehead. The tender words and sweet gesture brought on a fresh pool of tears.

  “Tell me why you’re so upset, Kitty.”

  How could she tell him? He’d despise her, just as she despised herself. Despite her efforts to keep him at arm’s length, Jack Porter had crawled under her skin, making her itch for things she could never have. No man wanted a soiled woman for a wife.

  Best to end things now, before parting became any harder.

  She shoved upright and grabbed her cloak from the foot of the bed. She’d at least make one thing right. She tugged at the hem until the seam ripped and coins and paper dollars spilled onto the counterpane.

  “There,” she thrust past the thickness in her throat. “Take what I owe you. You upheld your end of our bargain.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “Take it.” She shoveled the pile toward him. “Take all of it. I don’t need it any longer.”

  He caught her hand in a firm but gentle grip. “I said I don’t want your money. What I want is to know why you’re so upset about Lance getting sent to Elmira.”

  She traced a path with her eyes from the tips of his fingers to the point where his wrist disappeared into a stiff white cuff. Such strong hands. Unusual for a man who used his mind to do battle. And right now, he was intent on dueling with her.

  “Let me help you, Kitty.”

  She drew in a ragged breath. God how she wanted his help. If he could find a way to save Lance, she’d be forever grateful. But that would mean telling him what she’d done, and she just couldn’t do that. She’d rather face a Yankee firing squad than see his tenderness turn to scorn.

  She scooted off the bed and crossed to the window. A retreat, yes. But she just didn’t have any fight left.

  Unfortunately, the fight followed her.

  Boot heels clicked on the floorboards, then his strong hands cupped her shoulders. “I won’t stop until you tell me what’s going on.”

  She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to turn into his comforting embrace. It would be wrong to encourage him. “You have to let this go, Jack.”

  “I won’t. I want to help you.”

  “Why?”

  He remained silent as though pondering an answer. “Because
...” He spun her around until she faced him. “I promised I would help find your brother, and I always keep my promises. In order to do that, I need to know what’s going on, no matter how difficult it is to talk about.”

  Difficult didn’t even begin to describe it. She focused on his perfectly-tied black cotton cravat. He was a gentleman through and through. He’d treated her with nothing but kindness and respect since agreeing to play her husband. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe.

  “I-I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Start with why the Elmira commandant specifically requested your brother, a corporal, be sent to his prison when officers are sent first.”

  Her knees weakened. A tiny part of her hoped Lance’s movement to another prison had been mere coincidence. Clearly, it wasn’t. She pressed back against the window sash, using the hardness to shore up her sagging strength. “The Elmira commandant is Mrs. Lawrence’s brother.”

  “And that’s a concern because..?”

  “Because, before leaving Spivey Point, the Lawrences swore they’d get even with my family.”

  “Get even for what?”

  She swallowed hard. “For a wrong they felt had been done them.”

  “What kind of wrong?”

  The worst sort. “They blame us for a death.”

  “Was your family responsible?”

  Not her family. Her. Had she not trusted the sweet-talking Bart... She dug her fingernails into the sash. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Whose?”

  “Lance’s. He was only trying to—” The words wedged in her throat, jammed like logs in a river.

  “Trying to what? You can tell me.”

  “He...I...” She broke off with a strangled sob. “I-I can’t. It’s just too awful.”

  He reached out and cupped her elbow. “You don’t have go into the details. I get the general idea. Something happened at Spivey Point and your brother got blamed.”

  Blamed for something she caused. “When I learned of Lance’s capture, I knew I had to get to him before the Lawrences did.”

  “How would they have known he was at Point Lookout?”

  Heat rose in her veins, for the moment dousing the iciness of misery. “Because the polecats had spies in Richmond. I knew they’d soon be warned of Lance’s whereabouts.”

  “How did you know there were hired agents?”

  “They weren’t hard to spot. Like goats trying to hide in a herd of sheep.” A pang stabbed her. “Also because of Papa.”

  “I thought your father was dead.”

  “He was killed just after we moved to Richmond.” Her throat burned with the venom of hatred. “A runaway carriage...according to the authorities.”

  “I take it from your tone you don’t believe his death was accidental.”

  She turned back to the window. A blotch on one of the panes claimed her attention. She wiped at it with her finger. The smudge only got worse and spread further. Just like her life.

  “Papa hated the city,” she finally managed. “Said there were too many people crammed into one small space. Crossing the busy streets near made him ill. He’d walk an extra block just to find a safer route and wouldn’t go across until it was all clear.”

  She rubbed harder at the stubborn spot, her finger squelching on the glass. Dratted dirt. She drew in a breath, then pushed it out on a long exhale. “His death was no accident.”

  In the window’s reflection, she saw Jack kneading his chin, his expression thoughtful. It was one of the gestures she’d miss most once he was gone.

  “Well then,” he said. “We’ll just have to go to Elmira and make sure your brother doesn’t meet with the same fate, won’t we?”

  We? He wanted to continue with their charade after hearing all that? She stilled her rubbing. A glimmer of hope cut through her gloom. “What about your assignment?”

  “I’ve found no evidence of corruption here at Point Lookout. Visiting another prison would be the next logical step.”

  Logical. She was anything but logical. And the people she loved most had gotten hurt because of it. Outside the window, a breeze rifled through the treetops, lifting the leaves and revealing the hospital looming in the distance.

  “What about Jeb?” she said. “I can’t just leave him here.”

  “I took care of your friend.”

  “You did? How?”

  “I called in a favor. When he recovers, Jeb will be sent to my grandfather’s home in Baltimore. I told Lieutenant Whitlock we could use an extra hand around the place.”

  “I thought Jeb was being held for questioning.”

  “No charges have been brought against him. Besides, after seeing the scars on his back, the lieutenant felt a little more lenient. Figured Jeb had been forced to carry out his master’s orders and might be interested in the opportunity at freedom and a new life.”

  Though his voice held no censure, she stiffened anyway. “He didn’t get those scars at Spivey Point. Father didn’t hold with whipping. Jeb was already marked when he came to the estate.”

  He held up his hands. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to imply he’d been mistreated. I only wanted to explain why he wasn’t being detained. He’ll be released as soon as he’s strong enough to travel.”

  “Jeb’s getting better, then? He’ll live?”

  “He’s fighting a fever, but the doctors say a man as strong and healthy as he is should recover just fine. He’ll be up and about in no time.”

  Her shoulders lifted as if a great weight had been removed from them. “Thank you for seeing to him, Jack. I owe you...again.”

  “So, there’s nothing to stop you from going to Elmira, then.”

  Nothing but the fear of finding a corpse at the end of her journey.

  ****

  A tunnel of black encroached on his vision. He gripped the solid deck rail, anchoring himself, feet braced against the rise and fall of the steamer. Bile burned in his throat. He fixed his gaze on the beacon of light flashing on the shoreline and focused on maintaining his composure.

  He shouldn’t have agreed to travel by water. It would only feed the nightmares. But Kitty had insisted. Said the boat would get them to Elmira quicker. Those pleading green eyes and pouting lips had been damn hard to resist.

  “Jack?” A hand settled on his arm, pulling him back from the darkness. “Jack, are you ill?”

  He drew in a steadying breath and wagged his head. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I wasn’t sure. You sounded a bit edgy when Major Brady suggested we take this steamer.”

  “I said I’m fine,” he repeated, a bit harsher than he intended.

  She frowned, then moved her hand to secure her bonnet from the whipping wind. “I want to thank you again for offering to take me to Elmira. I don’t think I’d be able to manage on my own.”

  Not for the first time, he wondered at his sanity in making such an offer. This woman had careened into his orderly world, knocking it clean of its axis. All he could expect would be more of the same, more chaos, more nightmares, and more longing for something that could never be. She’d made her intentions quite clear. This husband and wife business was just that—business. Nothing more.

  “I imagine you’d do well enough on your own,” he said.

  “Hmmph. Most likely I’d end up in some smelly Yankee prison.” She skimmed a hand over the railing, one finger tap-tapping the wood. “My mouth has a tendency to spill over, if you recall.”

  He managed a smile. He could never forget a mouth like hers. All pink and pouty. He didn’t have enough fingers to count the times he’d wanted to silence those lips with a kiss.

  “I’m relying on you to help me curb my tongue,” she added.

  Oh, he could help her with that. In more ways than one. “So, you trust me, then?”

  She regarded him with those fascinating cat-eyes, now coyly hidden beneath half-masted lids. “Perhaps.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. What changed your mind?”

  She shrugged.
“Just the way you saw to Jeb, providing Socks for him to travel to Baltimore and leaving a note hidden in your saddle bag explaining my situation so he wouldn’t worry. You’re not such a bad egg...for a Yankee.” She treated him to a quick smile, then leaned over the rail, face turned into the wind.

  He clamped his teeth around a shout of alarm. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to haul her back to the safety of the deck. He didn’t want to startle her and send her tumbling into the water.

  “Papa once described the ocean to us, but words just don’t come close.”

  “Don’t let the water fool you,” he warned. “It can be just as dangerous as it is beautiful...just like a woman.”

  She thankfully leaned back to a safer perch. “Sounds like you’ve had experience with both, Jackson Porter.”

  “I have.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Who?”

  She shifted from foot to foot as if unsure of the path she had taken. Her gaze flicked around the ship until it rested on him. She squared herself and finally answered. “This beautiful, yet dangerous woman. You said you didn’t have a wife. So who are you talking about? Someone from back home?”

  No. You. He peered out over the water to avoid her probing stare. If she discovered his feelings for her, she’d surely head for the hills. “I rather not discuss my personal life.”

  “I see. Well, if your personal life is forbidden, how about the sea? Where have you traveled? Europe perhaps? That’s where all the privileged folks seem to go.”

  “I prefer my feet on terra firma.”

  “Terra firma?”

  “Solid ground.”

  “Oh.” Almond-shaped eyes glinted with amusement. “Not afraid of the water, are you?”

  “Let’s just say I have a great respect for it.”

  A sailor drew next to them and tossed a rope over the rail. The weighted end plummeted into the swirling water and disappeared. The seaman let the rope play out in his hands until it stopped moving. He turned to the quarterdeck and called out, “Ten fathoms.”

  Sweat dampened Jack’s armpits. Ten fathoms of cold, dark water, just waiting to suck him under. Any composure he’d garnered while bantering with Kitty sank at the thought.